End of Summer Came on the Wind

As the wind rustles through the leaves,  

like a thousand mice scurrying in the trees,  

I say, “It feels like the first autumn breeze.”  

But he replies, “No, it’s the wind before a summer rain.”  

That evening, as I sipped sweet tea

from a highball glass, I felt the shift—  

summer's end, undeniable,

when the local news reported 

three child drownings this summer.  
Not drownings “so far,” but this summer.

This summer. This number. This final word.
Reported as if all future drownings belong to another time—
to the new season.
All drownings from now on
will be Fall’s dead children.